


Vindictive

by Goodwill



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, More of that to come, My First Fanfic, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-14 04:50:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16033328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodwill/pseuds/Goodwill
Summary: The very slow burn relationship of Reed900. It borders on love‒hate, but I wouldn't have it any other way.





	1. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Point of view from Gavin Reed as to being assigned with a new android partner, Rk900.

8:00 AM.

Gavin Reed was awake become the alarm was brought to life, eyes heavy with last night's insomnia still on his lids. It felt like sand paper to blink, but it seemed to be the only effective way of pulling him from his sheets, a dizzy spell clouding his vision. He stretched, muscles in his back protesting from the awkward position he had assumed he had been in for a fairly long time. Nothing a shower and a strong brew wouldn't fix, hopefully.

And maybe a tylenol.

He'd pester Lieutenant Hank Anderson for one later.

It was the phantom smell of coffee that fully succeeded on dragging him across his carpeted flooring, and maybe it was habit, maybe he just wanted to believe it, but he yawned into his hands as if he had gotten any sleep. Finally, his eyes water, spilling relief to their dryness, a thumb brushing against the week old stable that covered his jaw. Perhaps he should shave, but after a night as rough as the one he was currently suffering from, he couldn't have been fucked to do it. 

He started the pot of coffee, pulling a mug from his cupboard and placing it on a nearby counter, before he made his way into the bathroom. Gavin would throw a glance into the mirror. He looked like shit. Great, a perfect representation of how he felt. There was a scoff and shake of his head, looking away to turn on the shower faucet. 

Truth be told, it was yesterday's words that had been keeping him up, whole body on edge, an anxiety driven restlessness. It was a certain _Jeffrey Fowler_ , head of the Detroit Police Department central station, that had been the one to deliver them too, just as Gavin was clocking out. A real slap to the face. "My office, first thing tomorrow. Nine-oh-clock sharp. Be there, Detective, we've got a guest." 

A guest. That part played in his mind like a broken record, each time punching more confusion, less tolerance, into his gut. _What the fuck did Fowler mean by that?_ And what did it have to do with him? Reed felt suited with his position as a detective, but every day seemed to get more and more like fucking game of Guess Who. 

Moderately clean, unshaved, and dark coffee in hand, Gavin chanced a look to the clock on his dashboard. The text read 8:23 AM. He was running late, but it was almost dire that his coffee was strong enough to push him through what was an insomniac's hangover, then whatever bullshit Fowler had littered into his morning. Two fingers pressed into the steering wheel, guiding his vehicle away from the curb and onto the road, letting his movements fall into autopilot; he had a guest of his own to pick up. 

Tina Chen was annoyingly on-time to everything, very unlike him, who slows to a stop outside her residence, leaning over to finger open the passenger door handle. The gesture us fruitless, the door already opening, another hand slapping his away. 

"What's your excuse this time?" She says as she sits herself down beside him, then reaching for the seatbelt. "Wait, don't tell me, I've got a few I've been debating on while I waited." 

_Good morning to you, too._

"Tina, don't fuckin' start with me," his voice sounds more brassy than both Tina and himself had expected it to. His sigh melts into an exhaled laugh that lacked any generosity, anger bubbling in the depths of his stomach.  "Too early for that shit."  He spoke around sips of coffee. 

This wasn't unexpected from someone as... well, from Gavin Reed. Twisting in her seat, she found herself challenging why she spent any time with him outside of the few sporadic moments where they'd be in the same room at the precinct. Maybe she could have tested her luck and hit someone else up for this offer‒maybe another coworker, maybe an outside friend‒someone who charished her company. Maybe... maybe she was getting a head of herself now, but hell, some reliability and some patience wouldn't have hurt. 

"You're telling me," Tina chimed in, eyeing him from the left of her vision. 

She had grown more accustomed to it, the unpredictable outbursts of the obviously sleep-deprived cop, especially in the mornings where a travel mug of strong coffee wasn't stapled to his hand. She tolerated it, though, partly out of gratitude and partly because she didn't like draining money into a taxicab. An incident involving herself, red ice and a car chase, had left her vehicle out of service for the time being; a little too much adrenaline had caused her to swerve haphazardly into the perpetrator's car. She was unharmed and the dealer was in custody, but her trunk and front windshield were both totalled. 

Tina remembers what Gavin had greeted her with as he visited in the medical center shortly after the incident. "Won the battle, but lost the fuckin' war," there had been a hint of mockery and amusement in his voice, a slight pull to his lips. She had rolled her eyes with a laugh. 

Endless banter about the incident and an eventual scowl from the patched up cop, she had dwelled on the favor in her head, knowing it was necessary to ask, thinking of the inevitable and unruly chore of fumbling with pocket change in her jean pocket to pay for a cab. Gavin had caught on to her silence and asked what her problem was. 

The smile that crept onto her face afterward made him regret asking. 

She wanted to make a deal, and approximately 45 minutes of relentless negotiating later, their bargin ended simply; Tina would occasionally pay for his morning coffee, as long as he would take the oh-so inconvenient burden of picking her up in the morning as he made his way to the precinct. 

The memory is ripped out of thought with a click of her belt and the grunt of Gavin as he shifts in front of the steering wheel, and the bundle of keys as they rattle in the ignition. He's already on the road, pushing the speed limit. 

"Wrong side of the bed, hey?" She lifted a brow, watching the whites of his knuckles as they gripped the steering wheel. 

He pulls a face, rolls his window down, and inhales the cold air rising from the asphalt. The tightness in his jaw is suddenly apparent. "No," Gavin curses and faces Tina briefly. "no," he continues, cold, and grits his teeth, "Fowler came to me at the end of my shift yesterday, says he got some _special guest_ he wants me to meet." 

The irritation translates in his driving, a sharp turn as he rounds the corner. She understands, knows no good comes from Fowler, even if he is the one in charge; whatever Gavin had been called in for wouldn't be for praise. "What'd you do?" 

A glare her way helps her to realize that wasn't the ideal response he was looking for, much too accusatory, but it was too early for her to help it. Tina recalls her questioning to his company, and a small smirk forms at the corner of her mouth. A second realization; she was just as much as an asshole as him, albeit much more tolerable to the rest of their colleagues. 

His fingers twitch on the steering wheel. 

"Not shit," Gavin barks back, but thoughts flood in his head, overthinking and analyzing. She had set off a small domino-effect in his brain, a detective's habit of solving problems‒this time his own. "Fucker probably just wants something to complain about." 

Tina agrees nonchalantly, but welcomes her unconscious gaze to a nearby coffeehouse, and swallows out of want. "On me?" she suggests, nodding towards it with a sideways glance to him and the half-empty mug in the cupholder. 

He follows her nod, the phantom smell of hot black coffee under his nose again. Sighs and checks the dashboard, remembering Fowler's office call. 8:36 AM. 

Acting evidently more petty during the early hours and lack of shut eye, he smirks at the scenario that plays out in his thoughts; showing up late to the meeting, hot coffee in hand, careless look on his face, and a heated expression on Fowler's. He knows he'll be on time if keeps going, so he flips his blinker and turns into the drive-thru. 

"On you," he confirms, drawing in a breath. 

 

It plays out nearly how he imagined it too, minus the almost expected expression mixed in with the irritation plastered on Fowler's face. Guess he didn't need that fancy pre-construction bullshit that Rk800 android lingering around the office had, he was perfectly capable of seeing it out without technology. 

Gavin throws the black hoodie with the hidden stains over his head, drops off his car at the parking lot, ranting through sips of coffee and curses, before he is back in the rain, slipping into the office with wet hair and a second near-empty cup. Chen lingers behind him, neither of them having seen the guest that infiltrated the bullpen, eyes keen and eager.

A cop and a detective on a personal case.

They had heard the captain before they saw him, barking at Gavin to get his ass into his office, lecturing him briefly on his tardiness. There was a light squeeze on his shoulder offered by Tina as he had strode his way to Fowler's door. He came in without knocking.

"Detective Reed," Deep and firm, but calm. "Take a seat." 

Fowler hadn't spared him a glance when he entered, busy with the files among files on his desk. However, one in particular open and marked, stacked neatly to the side. 

Raising his index and middle finger to his forehead, Reed gives a tiny salute, but it goes unnoticed. The room is empty besides the two of them. But with the coax given to him, he only continues to stare, the question on his mind is this; "Where's our guest?" 

"He's on his way, not expected until a quarter after," There was a pause. "I wanted to debrief you on the situation before he gets here." 

_Well that piqued his interest._ Gavin remains wary as he treads closer, hands resting ontop of the seat offered to him. His fingers drummed. "Yeah?" 

"Sit down, Reed."

Cue a long, frustrated exhale from his nose. He is conflicted on two things; whether he should allow the curiosity to drown out his senses and sit down, or should he turn on his heel and leave? There were things he had to do. Hell, he'd even go through and double check his paperwork if it meant he didn't have to endure a counseling session with his goddamn boss.

And as the saying goes, "curiosity killed the cat".

He cursed under his breath, bringing the chair around to slump into it, the textured fabric uncomfortable against his back. The door behind him closed softly with a click. _Why did he always give in?_

"All right, fine."

Gavin shuffles his hands around midair, gesturing wildly before settling them back down on the table, 

"Fine‒just say what you need to say."


	2. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Rk900 are assigned to be temporary partners, the frustration of it getting the best of them already, and a small argument‒the first of many‒arise.

If looks could kill, the Earth would be decaying under Gavin's feet. 

It took record time for the conversation to transition from tolerable to insufferable, Fowler and Gavin both raising their voice in protest at one another, but the prologue is mostly him. The prescient just outside of the boxy room seemed to stir with a new commotion; the windows did very little to prevent conversation from escaping to those just of earshot. 

Gavin thought he‒no, _Fowler_ was losing his fucking mind, but decided to bring him down with it. What set them off was a simple, generally optimistic usage of the word, "partner". The word itself lacked any malaise, but it made the detective cringe in discomfort. Partners were something never knew, and now, over a decade later, little had changed; yet Fowler had fucked about and paired him with none other than _a goddamn android_. 

The thought of it made Gavin's stomach churn, his expression screwing up into a sharp sneer. It only worsened when Fowler would reach into the files and slap down a picture of his new partner. 

He recognized it's face, too. Well, the face that it had been given, that it had stolen. It was the shared expression of the Rk800, Connor, the same one who had knocked Gavin out cold in the evidence room a few months prior. Only now it came with a dobermann's aurora and empty grey eyes. 

He hadn't "calmed the fuck down", as the captain had put it, by the time his infamous android partner knocked at the door, surely aware of the screaming fit inside of the office. Fowler had shot Gavin a look of embarrassed anger, jarring a finger in his direction. 

"Relax, Reed. Now."

He paid no mind to those strewn in his path, his actions as usual deliberately half malevolent and half involuntary. 

Bystanders shifted themselves out of his way, not wanting to be trampled over similar to what had happened with the papers under his feet, making sure to keep their distance as well. 

They were better safe than sorry. 

The machine had introduced itself as _Nines_ , a recently awoken RK model. Specifically, an Rk900 prototype, designed to be an improvement of the metal cop they already had roaming the bullpen. It was new to the force, but confident in it's skill to adapt to the DPD environment and would work efficiently with a partner. Fowler hadn't disagreed, apparently this had been in progress for awhile, ever since Markus' Jericho had infiltrated Cyberlife as their newly founded legal rights. 

Pathetic. _Electronics_ had rights now. 

If that is what humanity had come to, it was bound to be the end of the human race. Then so be it. Maybe they deserved it after this. 

Gavin had sat in silence, drowning in the ridiculousness of it all, the stupidity, before he made his exit. A hard slam to Fowler's office door and a hissed comment, almost a whisper, he made to the android nearly blocking the doorway, "Stay _the fuck away_ from me."

The discussion between the Rk900 and the captain filtered for a moment before continuing, letting the Detective excuse himself from the meeting without a word. 

Made a beeline toward his desk, an obvious difference within it's surrounding. Finding his belongings untouched, an unsettled confusion racked in his head, until he had eyed the cause. The empty desktop opposite Gavin had a collection of supplies laid out in an organized heap. Someone had claimed it. His hands grasped the name holder ontop the far end of the table. 

[ Rk900 (in small print), Nines. ] 

He had even given himself a name plate. 

Yet again disturbing the thick quietness that had been the bullpen, Gavin hammered his fist onto the surface, earning himself concerned looks and murmurs of his mental capacity echoed nearby. The thing could have picked anywhere fucking else in the office to sit, but it had to pick the desk closest to him. A breathy laugh of disbelief escaped his throat. 

"Not very bright for a state-of-the-fuck'n-art machine, now is it?" 

In his anger, he almost didn't hear the footsteps approaching behind him. 

"The fuck is your problem?"

The Detective recognizes the voice immediately, a stern and always-pissed-off sounding Hank Anderson. He closed his eyes for a mere second in impatience, jaw jutting out from the stress he put on his bared teeth. He most certainly wasn’t in the mood to deal with whatever the Hell Hank would care to bitch about – and whatever it was, it could wait. 

"Perfect timing as always, Anderson."

His comment goes ignored, the man nearly two decades his senior following Gavin's pale eyes to the desk, then to the name tag. He doesn't bother to hide the shit-eating grin on his face either, clearly enjoying the irony of the situation. 

"Mh. I'll be damned," Hank fiddled with the print on the name plate. "He chose to sit here, did he?" 

_He?_

Hank was referring to the android, giving it fucking pronouns. Gavin wanted to laugh, but the acid of his bitterness burned at his throat instead, and it came out as a growl. One android was all it took for his previously Anti-Android colleague to become infected with Jericho's preaches. All it was, was an illusion. An illness. He wouldn't have it. 

Wait.

"You _knew_ about this, asshole?"

Gavin turned, making a point of stepping into Anderson's space. If he wouldn't drop that smirk, Gavin would not hesitate to make him. His fist stayed by his side however, only now aware of the shadow that was the Rk800, Connor, standing behind the Lieutenant. His lips curled into a troublesome smile. 

"Well, well, well," inhales to throw his slur, "look who it is." Gavin dropped the plate to it's desk, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. "If it isn't Anderson's _favorite pet._ " 

"Knock it off, Reed."

Mouthy. He would save both fists for the pair, fingers flexing. One for each.

"Hello, Detective." Connor nods solemnly. "I understand you have been introduced to the Rk900." He stated this matter-of-factly, brown eyes watching intently.

Hank intervenes before Gavin is able to retort back, a sneer growing on his face. "Yeah. Found out last week," he admitted, "It wasn't official so I thought against bringing it up, thought it'd cause trouble." There was a quick gesture to the detective and the items scattered nearby. "Doesn't seem t'ave helped regardless."

"Fuck off, I didn't ask for your input."

The lieutenant looked unimpressed. "I said _knock it off_. You're going to get a disciplinary warning with that kind'a talk."

He's right, of course, but Gavin wouldn't be caught dead admitting it. Instead he chooses to barrel passed Anderson and his plastic robo-assistant, making sure to knick Connor with his elbow as he exits through. They don't stop him either, which is good for their own benefit, even if it is against their better judgement; any words to him now would have met with a sharp right hook.

Suddenly he is desperate, needs something to distract himself with, _needs something in his hands_ , in order to keep down his stress level. Which, again, without Cyberlife technology he was able to calculate was pretty damn high. Goes outside to the main entrance and makes himself at home on the stairs. 

Gavin pulls out a smoke.  
Then another.  
Then another.

Chain smoking his frustration isn't idealistic, and he has been brought to this many, many times on that matter, mostly by the Lieutenant. 

_As if he had any say on addiction,_ Gavin thought to himself, letting out a smokey drag, then crushing the butt of the cigarette on the stair ledge. But he almost forgets that Hank had been doing some... reevaluation. Self-care. Recovering from alcoholism and suicidal tendencies, and Gavin would bet a fortune it had something to do with his miracle fucking android. His fingers dig for another cigarette, only to find the box empty. 

A groan turned cough forces his head into his hands, holding pressure against his temple. Misses the presence behind him. 

"Detective." Cold, emotionless.

Shoulders tense.

His footsteps are silent out of habit; Nines does not mean to frighten him, but his approach is programmed to be careful and calculated, silent as what is best for his occupation. A small part of the Rk900 understands that adding more stress to the already high levels that Gavin Reed has could be potentially dangerous for both his mental health and well-being, but a _big part_ of him is too amused to change his ways‒he hopes that the human will, _eventually_ , get used to it. He might even increase his own survival chance and save itself from the barrel of Gavin's gun.

As for now, his lips are forced and tight, eyes just slightly narrowed, and yellow spins in a slow circle on his LED. He watches as Gavin whips around, one red-knuckled hand on the railing used to prop himself up.

"Thought I told you to stay away from me," It is not a reminder, it is a threat.

The Rk900 angles his head ever slowly, analyzing the features of his partner's face, reading anger, distant confusion, and intimidation. His heart rate has elevated. He offers him a smile that purposely does not reach his eyes.

"You did," He agrees, mouth pursed. "I chose to ignore it. We have work to do, Detective, and I advocate that you follow me inside instead of wallowing in self-pity on the prescient stairwell."

Sonofa _bitch_!

This has Gavin rising to his feet, invading what little personal space the machine had left in between them, teeth bared at the android looking down to him. Due to his profession, he had become fairly equipped when it came to studying body language, and he saw right through the mask of mechanics one would think to be a sympathetic smile on the Rk900's lips.

He snaps with something that to him, only sounds like the colliding of teeth; "You can't tell _ME_ what I should and shouldn't do, you fuckin' prick‒who _the fuck_ do you think you are?"

Nines takes no offense, wondering momentarily if the question was rhetorical.

"I am your partner," His voice sounds nonnegotiable, "and will get the respect and recognition as such."

The height difference enunciated by the 6 inch rise of the stair separating them made it as though Nines was towering over him. It made his gut twist in discomfort and apprehension.

Rk900's reply grated on his nerves, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was an effective way to spike another adrenaline rush and bring his sense up-to-date with the environment, and what he saw made his eyes concentrate. Gavin only continues to stare–though, after a second, a small smile makes its way across his face. He is not without some trace of fear in this moment, but he does not, _for even a minute_ , let his guard down.

The LED sparked red, and the android was now staring back at the detective with angry consolidation.

"Do I make myself _clear_ , Detective?"

Oh-hoh, the sweet sound of impatience. It wanted an answer bad, any sort of confirmation.

Gavin doesn't give him so much as a sneer, grinding his teeth hard in his mouth, then shoulders passed him. If he could've, he would have wrapped his hands around Nines' throat and squeezed, squeezed until his hands were raw and shaking, but he was on Fowler's last nerve after the stunt he pulled in his office. Maybe that's what the android wanted, what he _hoped_ for; a reaction to get Gavin suspended. But he couldn't give it that satisfaction.

Never could.

He would spend the rest of the day with his head in his screen, filing, organizing–doing whatever he could to avoid the icy glare he felt penetrating the skin of his neck, looking for a way in.


	3. Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin has a surprise visitor at his shitty apartment, none other than his much despised colleague that is Rk900 (Nines). It is not here to humble itself with Gavin's company however, there is a reason for it's arrival. Regardless the detective doesn't take kindly to it's presence and makes that known fairly quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is taking place two months after they've met, just addressing that now to avoid any confusion. Thanks for reading!

Knock knock knock.

"... _Shit._ "

It had been approximately two months since Gavin and the Rk900 were officially partnered, quite literally by force, and although a strained relationship had strung through their initial introduction, Gavin found that time has made working with a soulless hunk of metal wasn't all that bad ‒ as long as they kept to themselves. The bond between patrol car partners can be as strong as depicted in fiction, or no closer than the relationship you have with any other co-worker, and it goes without saying, that they might have even been a hint less than the former. They were no Hank and Connor, that was for sure.

After all, from Gavin's point of view, there was no logical reason to maintain a relationship, even one as baseline as a strictly work-related one, with him. In his mind, it would have been fruitless to try; there being no point to it. You couldn't get close with an android, they simply weren't capable. They were machines, all metal and wires, blue blood and programming, and the Rk900 that stood with attention at his door was no exception.

In fact, it may have only solidified his point.

_Knock knock knock._

A loud protesting groan followed by footsteps. He hadn't expected visitors, never did, and now it had left him answering the door in his sweats and a plain dark tee. Comfy, casual. Off the clock. Gavin exhaled, frustrated, and pulled open the door just as much as the chain guarding it would give albeit tentatively, making a habit of his more cautious approach that came with his job.

Grits his teeth at the sight. Gavin peered out with pale green eyes darting over the android form head to toe, shadows evident in the way his eyelids bagged. When his gaze snapped back to Nines' face, a moment more of silence lingered, lips pressed into a thin line. What a surprise.

His expression was unreadable to say the least, fixing on no indication of what the hell he could have possibly wanted. _Wanted?_ No, there was a reason he was here. He needed something from him, wouldn't have stepped a polished foot into his fucking hideaway of an apartment on the outskirts of Detroit otherwise. The only telltale way of his active existence is the very microscopic tilt of his head that gives way upon seeing the detective, LED stuttering a hemisphere of yellow. 

"Detective."

Impassive, polite, the same way he always addressed Gavin despite of his demeanor, whereabouts, or whether or not he wanted to engage in conversation. Nines was fully aware that his presence was discouraged, hardly even tolerated, but the necessity of work demanded he occasionally overstep Gavin's preferences. The Rk900 was not designed for integration such as his predecessor, but intimidation.

His hands are neatly packed behind himself, out of the way, as he recalls the confrontation between the two months prior, one of their first encounters, on the outside steps of the precinct. Nines had used a tactic in means of demanding respect from his partner, to been seen as an equal instead of subhuman, which Gavin, opposite of what he predicted, did not respond positively to. Nines had seemed to make a mistake in his usage of method, which to him, was frustrating, though admittingly a tad interesting. Humans were so... unpredictable. 

**Slam.**

LED circled red, uncertain and confused. As quick as the door had opened, it had closed again. He goes to rock his knuckles on the door once more, this time with more urgancy, but stops before he gets to. The chain on the otherside of the door is juggling. Nines blinks and returns his hand back to his side, waiting expectantly. 

Door swings open. "Whaddya want, plastic? Bit late for an _office call._ " Gavin is propped against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly across his chest, using a sock clad foot as an anchor to keep the door open. 

"I wouldn't be here if my junction didn't send me, so I suppose that, contrary to your beliefs, it is never too late for any work order." Rk900 assured him, lips pressed together. The machine wouldn't show it but he's hiding irritation‒he had tried his best to " _stay the fuck away_ " as Gavin had requested‒yet all attempts went unrecognized. "I thought it best to inform you in person as you were not responding to e-mails."

"What?" Gavin glances back to where his cellphone rested idly on the countertop, facedown and drained of it's battery. God, that's fucking embarrassing. He bites inside of his cheek as a sort of punishment and a way to suppress the self-deprecating heat raising into the back of his neck. There's a pause, but he quickly swallows his pride and nods back toward the RK unit, eyes narrowing in.

"All right, well‒" Gavin shifts himself out of the way, kicking the door open and gesturing Nines to come inside. "if you insist on being here, tell me what you've got." He's going to need to change before he goes anywhere, suddenly feeling too exposed for his liking. 

The movements are graceful and effortless, much too precise for a human, nevertheless he is now inside, running a system set up as he takes in his surroundings. Nines' eyes travel to examine what appears to be the living room of his partner's abode, analyzing in detail. It's cluttered interior reminds him of the detective's desk at the station, though everything appears to be in a strange array, strewn about, it is something of a disorganized-organized mess. He gives the room one more rundown before settling his attention back to the man in front of him.

Nines answers Gavin as he shuffles into a nearby room, flicks on the light, and closes the door behind himself just enough to cover his body. "There was a report made approximately thirty eight minutes ago, a home invasion." He pauses, pacing slow and careful, making sure to be in earshot. "The witness testifies that the perpetrator did not get much farther than breaking and entering; it seems that their attempt had been cut short due to the witness' detection."

To think ten minutes ago Gavin was contemplating downing a bottle of unopened vodka, endeavoring his best attempt at a peaceful evening in front of his television, finally out of his work clothes. Gavin scoffs as he rounds the edge of his dresser, listening in on what news the Rk900 had brought along with himself as he searches for anything clean and decent at retaining heat. Winter nights in Detroit were fucking relentless, and on top of everything else, Gavin didn't want to freeze his balls off as well.

A break-in? _So much for his peaceful evening._

He sighed through his nose, feeling around for his sweater, "Any info on the suspect?" Truth be told, the last thing he wanted to do right now was play cat and mouse with a petty thief, but he'd be damned if he'd let the android go in his place. Gavin pulls the hood over his head, taking in it's warmth. Wasn't perfect but it would do. "And the residents, what'd we got on them?"

"From what the witness described, the perpetrator would appear to be a Caucasian male, mid-to-late twenties. He worn a mask which consumed his facial identity, however I have put in a request to access surrounding security cameras in the area." Nines canted his head, LED spinning as he fed off the provided information.

He digs for factoids on the residents, and there is a brief pause. "As for the owners, they were coincidentally out of town the time of which the incident had occurred; they are unharmed and have been informed of what's happened."

Gavin nodded in vain, changing back into the dark jeans he had discarded onto the floor mere hours earlier, internally processing at the information. "Nothin' coincidental about it," he mused, exiting his bedroom.

"I agree," The Rk900 nodded, eyebrows downturning. "It suggests the suspect was known to the victims. The attempt at robbery gives the impression it was premeditated."

Gavin scoffed. It wouldn't have taken a genius, or a fucking Cyberlife manufactured android to figure that one out.

"Yeah, you think so? Thank you, _Detective Gadget,_ what would Detroit ever do without you." Gestures in a mock prayer and steps forward into his space. 

The android stares; no intimidation, his reply is curt, bordering on sounding bored. "It is what the evidence suggests."

There's a smile tugging at the corner's of Gavin's lips, hands lowering, an unsatisfying glimpse to his eyes; it is not friendly, but sardonic. He slips passed Nines, wanting to taunt and mock him to no end, seeing how he is now in his territory, but decides against it and grabs for his keys. 

"Yeah, well, can't rule everything out just yet, tin-can."

Gavin doesn't bother taking his phone, already having neglected it enough as it is, only to chance a glance at the LED exposing the Rk900's truth. Yellow. "What, you're not happy with that one? I have others for you, _cyborg_."

Nines much preferred when the topic of conversation persistently consisted of work, partly for his recreational purposes and partly because Gavin was considerably more agreeable when he was focused on something besides the fact he was not human. He hadn't indulged itself in the findings of Gavin's prejudice towards androids, but whatever the reason, he found it easy to torment Nines for it. Just like usual. He gave his partner a hard glare in return.

"Are insults the only way you can communicate by? If that's the case why don't you stop talking, or may I remind you of our terms?"

His first response a throaty sarcastic chuckle. Time and time again they held this exact argument; Nines' demand for mutual understanding and Gavin's perpetual refusal to accept it. Androids were, under law, now "recognized as an entirely new intellectual species" _blahblahblah_. The same preaching bullshit everytime. He didn't care if they claimed they could feel emotion or pain, or if they could play fucking hopscotch, he had a job to do, morals to live up to, and under no circumstances would he let a thing pretending to be human get in his way. 

"First things first, asshole," Gavin rounds the Rk900, easing into the same pace his LED ring moves, never once breaking their eye contact. God, he doesn't want this fucking argument again‒it always played out the same; each and every conversation came to a bitter end. "I don't care what you do, as long as you stay outta my hair."

Nines remains expressionless, features unreadable but yet still so undeniably annoyed. The ice shade of his eyes only seem to cool with each lingering step Gavin makes around him. "And just how exactly am _I_ the asshole here, if I may ask? It seems you are the one finding satisfaction in ridiculing everything I say and do." He meets his stare, challenging Gavin with a sneer, showing the whites of his teeth. "In my eyes, that would make **you** the asshole, Detective."

(Software Instability **^** )

Nines sounded... well, he _sounded_ pissed off. A tightness of either excitement or anxiety balled up in Gavin's chest, he couldn't tell which. Maybe both. And it felt good. However, Nines had begun again before he could retort, push him further.

He was a perfect machine, yet words were penetrating into his software as if they were silver bullets, Gavin Reed being the one with a tight grip behind the trigger.

Nines continued, "Believe me, I would like nothing more than to be done with our partnership, but this is beyond ourselves; I could not possibly care less for what you think of me." He grabbed at Gavin's wrist, grip like a vice. "Now if we could get to the crime scene like professionals and get on with our duties, I would greatly appreciate it."

Gavin was in no position to argue.

He made an attempt of jerking his arm away but to no avail, settling just to flex in hopes of loosening Nines' fingers. "Get the fuck off of me."

"Do we have an understanding?"

He winced at the pressure building around his wrist, hissing through bared teeth at the pain. "You're _REALLY_ tryin' me, motherfucker."

With a shift tug he was sent towards Nines, the muscles in his forearm screaming in angst. An audible groan fell from Gavin's lips before he could fully comprehend what had just happened. The android leaned in, face to face, all seriousness and determination. 

" _Do we have an understanding_ , Detective? I will not ask a second time." He tried again, words laced with a cold vemon.

Gavin eyed the unit, pressing his heels into the floor beneath trying to gain stability. His wrist ached and he swore he could feel each individual finger dig into his flesh. "Fuck‒ _**sure**_ , we have a goddamn understanding, plastic." He dug a finger into Nines' chest. Solid. Cold. Hard against his fingertips. 

"Now take your fuckin' hands off me."

The reply wasn't necessarily up to par, but it knew Detective Reed well enough to know that this confirmation was as good as any; and he would take what he could get. "Very well." Letting out a satisfied hum, the android released him and took a step back.

Nines turned and made for the exit, LED returning to his residual blue. "Meet me outside, I have been informed of Officer Collins' arrival at the crime scene. I would hate to keep him waiting." With that, he disappeared through the door and left Gavin clutching his wrist, thumbing over the beginning reddish colorings of a bruise. 

"Goddamn androids."


	4. Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Rk900 (Nines) arrive at a seemingly dry crime scene, meeting with Ben Collins and two others, only to have the sheets pulled out from underneath them. More specifically, from Gavin.

The ride to the crime scene was unremarkable to say the least. Gavin had climbed down from his apartment following his android to tell him to kindly fuck off, only to find Nines in the backseat of his vehicle. He was waiting for Gavin, hands flat against his lap and a knowing look on his face. The detective had scoffed to himself before claiming the front seat, not bothering to ask how he had managed a way into his car without so much as a key.

He was forever underestimating the quirks Cyberlife put into it's creations.

Upon their arrival, the two separated into the routine that their two months of partnership had developed into. Both Gavin and Nines were independent within their work space, detached from one another until the near end of the investigation, where only then would they come together and put forth their speculations. It was like clockwork, easy and simple, and it got the job done. 

As much as Gavin would hate to admit it, even to himself, they made a _damn fine_ team working that way, too.

This time however, the argument in his apartment accompanied by his still aching wrist had made Gavin bitter and resolute, all of it still fresh on his mind. The last thing he wanted to do right now was watch the Rk900 step all over his crime scene. He got out of his car before it had fully rolled to a stop, parking and removing the keys a little less than clumsily, determined to spend as little time with Nines as humanly possible. Still, he approached the scene with an automatic caution, then ducked himself under a fence of police tape.

 **DO NOT CROSS**.

Gavin looked towards the figure lurking nearby, catching the glimpse of the badge attached to his front before nodding to greet him.

"Reed," Ben starts, nodding at him in return. "Thanks for making your way down here. I know it's a pain and these kind of crimes aren't your forte, but the department's gotten a little tight and I appreciate any help I can get."

What he means is, _I'll take whatever scum is left at the bottom of the bowl, even you, if I have to_.

"Fowler's gotta get his ass on that before Perkins does," Gavin sighs. "Don't need more androids cloggin' up the precinct; he needs to start hiring."

Ben opens his mouth to reply but comes short, not entirely certain where he currently stood when it came down to androids and work enforcement, although with all things considered, he was always appreciative of their help. He's met with the sound of footprints trailing behind Gavin and blinks in surprise. 

"Connor? I thought Fowler said you and the Lieutenant weren't supposed to come out until later. I didn't expect to see you here this early."

A voice replies, but it's not Connor's. Nines steps into view, landing a spot beside Gavin who was rather obviously displeased by his being there. "Hello, Officer Collins," he extends a hand forward out of courtesy. "You must be speaking of the Rk800 model, Connor is the name of my predecessor."

"Oh," Ben meets his hand and shakes it, firm. "I knew they were dispatching an android but..."  He trails off and scratches his cheek as he takes back his hand.  "You, uh... you got a name? Not sure if I got word about who you are."

Nines nods understandably, "That's quite all right." 

He's just supposed to say what model he is, and that should be the end of it, but that would not quite answer what the man asked. Collins had used the pronoun _who_ instead of what, gave Nines a sense of humility. The officer hadn't referred to him as object or even a machine, and asked for his name, which was a first from anyone besides Hank Anderson. The Rk900 blinks as if momentarily lost as to what he should respond.

If he had allowed himself a preference, or would ever admit to himself that he already had one, he would prefer to be called something other than the name of it's predecessor. Connor is only a constant reminder of what Cyberlife had hoped to achieve and were _unable_ to, and the Rk900 does not want to be associated with failure. 

Nines breaks his gaze with thought, pondering quietly, then gestured to his jacket, long index finger pointing to the **RK900** labeled on it's front.  "I am a Rk900 prototype,"  He replied,  "But in past occurrences, I have been to referred to as Nines, mostly by other colleagues at the D.P.D., although you may refer to me as you please."

Gavin bellows out a laugh, clasping his hands together and shaking his head in disbelief. He had been listening in on the conversation, and though he wasn't usually the type to eavesdrop, this particularly time the context had strung up all his attention.

" _Nines_. Fuckin' really?" It had been one thing to see the nameplate but to HEAR the name come out of his ugly fucking mouth was something completely uncanny. "You really couldn't have picked anything less human."

No one else finds the jibe amusing but that doesn't matter, it had left it's mark. Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin could see the look shared between Nines and Collins, the human rather than than android looking rather sheepish.

Nines looks at Gavin with a pessimistic curl of his lips, not bothering to say a word on his behalf. Quite frankly Nines was growing tired of the constant reminder that he wasn't human, as if that mattered, in almost every interval of his existence. "I suppose not."

Collins clears his throat and exhales an audible sigh, trying to make light of the situation. "All right, I'll be sure to check for the jacket next time." He offers a smile that is quick and tight. "Welcome to the team, Nines."

"Of course, thank you. I look forward to providing my futute assistance in this department; you will not be disappointed with me."

The group begins toward the house, checking main points of entry and the busted lock of the back door, Ben briefing the situation in more detail than Nines had back at the house, having more first-hand information. It's clear the suspect had gained entry through the back, but what is uncertain is the reason why. As of now, all leads were questionably dead ends. The property had been broken into, that much was clear, but there had been nothing of importance taken. The home owners had gone through a scope of the house only to find everything in place aside from random items moved about and a few drawers opened. It was... fucking weird, Gavin concluded, chalking it up to another 'what the fuck' case. He suspected whoever it was who had broken in were under the influence of some sort of drug, cocaine or perhaps red ice, though Nines had made a point of saying there was no evidence to suggest that theory.

He agreed, internally, only to say aloud that it was a simple fucking suspicion, and not necessarily an out-of-the-box idea.

Then something in Gavin clicks.

"Hold the fuck up," he promptly rose two fingers as if to silence them. Ben and Nines glance up, expecting something relating to the perpetrator. They were mistaken. "You said something about Connor?"

Ben pulls a face in confusion for a mere couple seconds before remembering his earlier conversation with Nines. "Mh-mm, yeah. Him and Hank should be joining us shortly."

Gavin gives him a look back, standing from his kneeled position. "What the fuck?" He looked around him again, scanning the room. "Why's Fowler sending the entire department for a trespassin' case?"

Ben shrugged. "Not sure, I didn't ask."

From the corner of his eye, Gavin can see the same thoughtful look on Nines' face, LED spinning steadily yellow. "Whatcha think, plastic?"

"I... am not positive that I know, either. Perhaps for more hindsight, there is a lack evidence to provide us with a solid suspect as of now."

Gavin chews at his bottom lip, not sure how Fowler would get a rise out of this one. He must really be losing his mind over there; maybe Perkins taking over a few leads wouldn't be all that bad if it meant the D.P.D.'s head wasn't going to shit.

"Well, it's his fuckin' funeral if he doesn't sort this shit out soon."

The longer the search went on, the more tedious it felt to be searching for something that probably didn't even exist. A needle in a hay stack. God, Gavin was never really the best when it came to gut instincts, but it seemed to be a waste of his and everyone else's time spent scrutinizing the house any longer; maybe his hunch was right. Just as he was about to throw in the towel, wave his white flag around his own sorry ass, Hank and his human-shaped lapdog showed up, only adding fuel to the fire that was Gavin Reed's frustration.

Was it pride? Ego? Either way, Gavin now on the fence about leaving. Leaving meant giving handing the Connor the golden opportunity of solving another one of _his_ cases. He decided he'd suck it up for the time being, that is until the boredom drilled in again and forced his hand. Another hour goes by, and still, nothing. Not a fucking thing to help with this case. He can hear Nines and Hank discussing over it in another room and deliberately avoided it, using it as a reason to venture toward the upstairs of the home. Although he doesn't get very far before the creaking of footsteps are echoing his.

Gavin was not certain who they wanted to punish when they had involved Connor into the case; him or the machine in question. As if one fucking android wasn't enough as it were; Fowler was really _pushing_ for Gavin's resignation.

Half way up, he knows it's already too late to try and turn back around, he'd be caught before he even got down, but it'd be a damned lie if said he hadn't debated it. Gavin exhales and meets his fate, pushing upwards.

Connor's face looks down to him from the top of the stairwell, "Hello, Detective Reed."

Gavin doesn't stop to acknowledge him, carefully shifting over to his right to avoid contact with the android.

Connor moved _just_ enough to let him by, though was insistent to get what he wanted. He was irritating to say the least, but the Rk800 was nothing if not persistent. 

"I have something to show you, I believe it may be something of interest."

No response‒Gavin was quick to exit into the hallway.

Connor refused to take a hint, even went as far as to follow him down the hall, mimicking Gavin's pace yet not coming close enough to be in arms reach. He had learned his lesson, memory reminding him with a replay of a swift punch into his gut Gavin had given him months back, just hard enough to make him double over and brace itself to lessen the impact. Connor tried again to get his attention,

"Detective?"

Nothing.

"Detective Reed, please‒"

His voice was like nails on a chalkboard, and he wanted to stop, turn, and mock that goddamn annoying voice with something of his own in return, _'DeTecTIve'_. The thirty six years of maturing put him in his place though, and he behaved. Or tried, for what it's worth.

He spun around, teeth bared.  " _What_?"

Connor seemed to relax, even if Gavin was another word away from shoving his fist down his throat.

"There is something that requires your insight, I would like for you to examine it."

His features pinched tight, now eyeing the bag Connor had lifted into view, a small object inside. It was small and circular, very easy to miss, with a glassy coating.

"What is..." He trailed off, stepping closer.

Gavin leaned in to get level with the object, pulling his eyebrows together, then looking back to Connor; he knew what it was, _knew that Connor knew what it was_.

Inside the bag was a LED.

Connor caught the detective's inquisitive expression.  "What do you make of this?"

The android's voice sounded curious and serious as Gavin passed a thumb over where it lay. He froze, finger lingering over the plastic. It felt... warm.

Warm.

It had been recently removed.

The temperature was present enough to suggest it had even been removed _while_ they were inside investigating. The thought had Gavin charging back downstairs within the instant, one hand on the railing and one wrapped around the handle of his firearm. He wasn't sure if his urgent whisper of "it can't be far" to Connor had even been picked up, but the adrenaline was kicking him forward and into motion before double check.

"Gavin?" A voice called after him just as he found his way through the front door; the only way the suspect could have escaped through without being seen. It was Ben's.

Between the build up of anticipation of being disinterested at the crime scene and the anger at being partnered up with Hank and Connor on yet another case, the professionalism Gavin usually took pride in with his work went out the door with him, sending him out into the rain and after shadows. He turned into a nearby alleyway, the heightened intensity of his senses making it easier to track in the dark, and he picked up on the drip-drops of fluorescent blue mapping the runaway android.

Thirium.

It should have been an easy night, yet here Gavin was, forced outside in the pissing rain and now chasing down a suspect in the dead of night. On top of that, he was after a machine designed to be much faster than him. He felt his feet pick up, hauling ass down the narrow path, slipping his fingers over the safety of his gun.

"Detroit Police, come out with your hands up!" He shouted, bracing himself.

A wet slosh shifted his attention as he neared the end of the alley. Gavin registered the presence in front of him disappearing before he had a chance to turn, the soft patpatpat of feet still audible but lessening; they sounded soaked and squished against the concrete. Whoever, _whatever,_ they were, they were making a clear attempt of trying to stay quiet and out of sight, but for a detective with over a decade of experience under his belt, they were shit out of luck. Gavin found his fingers biting the handle of his firearm again, releasing it carefully and flicking off the safety. He wasn't trigger-happy but was more than willing to kill if necessary, and as of now, he wasn't sure if the perpetrator was armed.

A thought sprung up, _Nines would know._

Gavin hadn't hesitated to leave the android inside without making it aware of his current situation‒figured it'd just get in his way‒but now, as he squinted in the dark, there was a pull in his chest that nagged at him for risking any and all safety protocol. Too late to mourn over it now.

Then, the figure turned on it's heel, ducking behind a corner. Gavin grinned. _Hook, line and sinker._

"Hold it, motherfucker! Hands over yo‒"

A wet crack.

The punch was heard before it was felt, and Gavin had to admit, even in his fading consciousness, it was a good shot. His ears rung from the impact, the hot trickle of blood sliding down his neck and white-hot pain burning at his nerves. The detective looked up to meet eyes with the culprit, giving a wheezed curse, only to receive another swift kick to the jaw that sent him back. Another crack, the back of his skull colliding with the pavement; the last thought on his mind was that of the emptiness in his hand where his firearm should have been.

Lights out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are any typos, I wrote this at 2am and I'll check over it tomorrow, but any errors pointed out would be appreciated. Thanks!


	5. Intimidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin, being the temperamental mess that he has become, is reeling from the aftermath of getting himself injuried on a recent call-out and Nines is beyond pissed.

Voices. Multiple. A variation. _They were familiar._

Gavin stirred, groaning quietly. The throbbing pain returned to the forefront of his consciousness. He felt around, the cool cement no longer at his fingertips. _Where the fuck was he?_ Half-lidded eyed squinted into the room, blinking away the darkness and narrowing in on blurred figures as they circled around him. He went to sit up, but one of the blurred individuals reached a hand out to stop him. It was gentle and gloved, easing him back onto the examination table.

"Careful, Reed," The voice was feminine and cautious. "Not so fast."

Gavin attempted to shrug the hand off, turning with another hitched groan. It was useless, the pressure on him growing steady and dizziness knocking him back into place. His world spun.

"You're being taken care of, I'm a nurse at the Detroit station. You were brought in earlier this evening."

"What's my damage?"

"Your nose is broken," She informed him calmly, turning away for a moment before returning into view with a damp cloth. "And you have a small concussion and bruising on your wrist," that, he knew, was not due to the incident, "but other than that you'll be ok."

A concussion. Well, _shit_. That explained the pounding at the back of his skull. A hand ran through his hair, matted with dried blood, pressing an index finger to the wound. Gavin tried to pull the memories from last night back, only managing bits and pieces to resurface. He remembers being at home, the fucking android showing up at his doorstep, their argument, then meeting Ben at the house, but the details were beginning to get foggy.

"How long was I out for?"

She glanced at the clock. "Only a few hours. You're lucky."

Then he remembers laying on the hard surface of the alleyway for God knows how long before calling for back up. Gavin scrunched his nose and stopped when it burned, “ _Err_ , fuck, someone hit me?”

"Yeah, got you real good, too,” Another voice, deeper, masculine; _Hank Anderson_ , flinging a pillow from the couch down at Gavin's stomach. “After you ran off on your own. You're gettin' to be little annoying with that hero complex of yours, Reed.” He’s being nice‒he said he was only a _little_ annoying; probably pitied Gavin due to his current state. “Seriously, do you ever fuckin' relax? Jesus.”

Gavin dismissed the jab, instead catching the pillow as it was tossed to him. He winced and shot Hank a sharp glare, "Yeah, whatever. What're you doing here anyway?"

Hank shared a halfway sympathetic look which made Gavin's insides twist in digust, arms crossing over his stomach. "Waiting for you to wake up, thought I'd let you know the perpetrator's caught. He's in lockup an' doesn't appear to be a damned bit pleased about it, either."

"Good." An honest to God laugh, "Fucker can stay put until I finish up in here." Gavin turned to the nurse as he was on the subject, "We almost done?"

The nurse‒her name tag read Vivian‒nodded slowly as she wiped the remaining blood off his chin with the cloth, "Nearly, but I'd suggest you take a three week leave before returning to work. Your concussion is mild, however it best to let it fully recover." She gave him a once over. "And I'll need to readjust your nose before you go anywhere."

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me..."

Hank exhaled, obviously done with this conversation, "Fowler's taken you off the case, wants you to rest up properly. You're pushing yourself, breaking protocol. Reed, it's gettin' sloppy."

"Fowler can kiss my ass if he's gonna punish me for doin' my job," It comes out immediately, a bit more defensive than he intends, but he's pissed. He knows he needs some time off and he's considered it on various times, but he can't get passed how it looked. It showed exactly what he hated (feared), the android being more efficient than he was, taking his job to himself. Gavin propped himself up on his elbows. "Fuck that, I'm not going anywhere."

Hank cocks his eyebrow.

Gavin's glare softens, just slightly, "Listen, fine. I'll think about it. I'll think _good_ about it, all right? Just get off my back, I don't need to be told when to‒"

As on cue, the goddamn machine itself glides his way into the medical room with all the grace of a gazelle, arms laced behind his back and chin high. The detective moves to sit up, sneer at Nines, but in return he lacks any expression, looking almost annoyed at Gavin for having inconvenienced his work. The fucking _nerve_ of this thing, he couldn't even pretend to be concerned, standing a distance away from everyone else at the corner of the room.

Gavin gestured a finger to the door behind him, "No. Turn around, leave, don't come back. I don't want to see your face for the rest of my recovery, compadre?"

Nines raises his eyebrows but says nothing, letting the door click shut behind him, the smallest narrow of his eyes concentrating on his partner. His manner is purposefully unreadable, robotic, remaining in a posture that looks a balance of sharp and bored at the same time. The only give away of what's churning inside of him is the bright red coming from his LED.

"Reed, what happened wasn't his fault. No one told you to go off on your own. Hell, you didn't even tell Ben you were leavin'," Hank reminded him, a hint of a warning in his voice, "Cool it. Take some responsibility."

Vivian looked between the three, then followed the Lieutenant's attention back to Gavin. "I need to step out for a bit," she told them, placing the bloodied rag to the side, "I need to get someone to help stable you for the readjustment."

He has to bite his tongue for a moment, because the first words that come to mind are guaranteed to get a needle stick into his arm that doesn't need to be there. Gavin has nothing against her, just wants this to be over with and doesn't necessarily care for all the precautions, thinking of them as a waste of time rather than for safety. Still, he's snappy, and wants to get face to face with reason he was in there to begin with. 

"Yeah, fine. Just‒"

Hank stopped him. "I'll do it."

Vivian, hand already hooked onto the handle, looked back towards him with surprise. "If you wouldn't mind, that would actually be very helpful," She said, but watched Gavin for confirmation, Hank already stepping towards him.

“ _Like Hell_ he will." Gavin sneered, "If you don’t get your hands away from my face, I’m gonna mirror my injuries on you,” His nose is crooked, his lips are split, and there’s a nice bruise revealing itself on his left cheek. It’s definitely not one of those 'you should see the other guy situations', he lost, and Gavin's never been the type to admit it, but he’s lucky that he got off this easy; didn't get beat into a pulp on the concrete.

“It’s me or your partner, Reed. You want his hands on ya?” The Lieutenant pinches the bridge of his nose. "You want this done, so make it easy." This time the comment was more to himself. 

Hank’s got a point.

Gavin considers it through a scowl. He doesn't want Nines to do it‒he’d make a whole _thing_ out of it. Take his sweet time, spend countless minutes calculating his approach. At least Hank’s going to snap his nose back into place and move on. Gavin grabs the pillow thrown to him earlier, takes the biggest handful of it he can manage and squeezes. He releases a sigh in defeat, and he lets his lazy eyes fall on his superior. “All right, do it."

 _Before I change my mind_ , he wants to add.

Nines watches from his spot polar to the three before him, his head, still resting high, slowly tilts to the side of him, in a manner like a mechanized toy. The young woman that he's unfamiliar with is finding a steady position next to Gavin, Hank following her actions on his left as she taught him through it. He watched skeptically, surely knowing that his assistance would have been more adequately suited in preference of Hank's, a Lieutenant with only basic practice in medical aid. Though he was also aware of the objection Gavin would have at the very thought of his help, therefore preventing him of advertising his hand.

The readjustment is done fairly quickly regardless, and with only occasional protests from the detective. The bone was set back into place with a crunch, and Gavin hissed, nails biting into the edge of the table.

"All done," Vivian removed her hands, as did Hank after a slap to Gavin's shoulder, stepping back to let him have space.

He groaned low, pain shocking through him once again, jaw tight. "Pain killers?" Hell knows he could use them.

"I'll get some," She removed her gloves and excused herself passed Nines, slipping through the doorway.

Gavin murmurs a 'thank you' to her back, tentatively running a finger over the break in his nose, lips parting in angst. It wasn’t until he looked up again did he notice a pair of lingering eyes staring down at him, not saying a word, lips pressed into a resting pout. Gavin swallows, he had almost forgotten the android was there. He wasn't going to say it aloud, but whatever the fuck kind of game Nines was playing was creeping him out, and he held back a curl of digust, breaking their eye contact. 

Hank had noticed the silence, but he didn't pay it any mind. He wasn't as familiar to the Rk900 as Gavin, and he sure as Hell wasn't about to try to be, breaking the awkward tension with a clear of his throat. "Although I'd love to say and chat," Hank started, "I've gotta get goin', gotta check up on Connor; he's with the perp, keeping 'em company." He shook his head, eyeing Gavin. "I'll keep tabs on him for you while you're out."

"You do that, Anderson," Gavin mumbled, " _Oh,_ and if he gives you any trouble, give him a big shiner for me, yeah?"

The Lieutenant was already stepping through the exit, rolling his eyes. He had his falling out as a cop in the past, but he wouldn't be caught playing bad cop for Gavin Reed. He exited without another word.

Silence.

The towering presence of Cyberlife's super solider looming in the back eased it's way back into awareness. Gavin closed his eyes, thinking, maybe, if he pretended Nines wasn't there, he would take the fucking hint and get out; leave him to lick his wounds in peace. The door clicks closed. His eyes stay shut.

It's fine that they don't speak, Gavin always has something to say. It's not always smart for him to _do_ it, but it's hard for him to bite his tongue. He shifts, uneasy, wants to yell in the android's face, tell him to say something, to look away, or to fuck off. Maybe all three. Why the fuck did he have to get stuck with this one? Gavin swears Nines makes Connor seem almost half decent, not as bad as he once thought, tolerable; remotely human in certain aspects.

"You know what? Screw this." Shaking his head from the ridiculousness of it all, he begins to lower himself from the table, planning on making a beeline the same way Hank had.

"Detective Reed," The resolute deadpan tone of Nines' voice hesitates immediately‒he is not calm.

Now he wanted to talk? Nope, this thing wasn't going to give him the silent treatment only to wait until they were alone to say something, not a fucking chance. The voice of him alone makes Gavin sneer in response, and as if to prove he literally does not give a shit about what Nines wants, he pushes himself off the table to leave.

The machine positions himself in front of the doorway, effectively blocking his partner. His expression had morphed into one of angry concentration ‒ eyes cold and lips bared in a snarl.

" _Gavin_." 

Dread. He wants to throw up. This was the first time he's ever heard Nines say his name, and it's dripping with malevolence and frustration. He growls in response and steps close enough to Nines that he can jab him in the shoulder a few times, trying to get him to move step back.  "Move it, prick.  Get outta my way."

The Rk900 steps forward and into him, and at first Nines remains silent; jaw clenched, unsure what to do other than intimidate Gavin into an answer, almost keen on using his fists. "No."

" _Yes_." Gavin goes to shove him, but Nines is quick to catch his arms, using his weight to move him back and further from the exit.

"I don't understand what I have done that was so irreversibly terrible to you," He states, signs of aggression pinching at his features. "But you are deliberately putting yourself in harm's way to avoid any confrontation with me." 

Gavin rears back from the android to no use, stuck in his grip for the second time in under a twenty four hours. He glares bloody murder at it, ignoring the drumming in the back of his top. "And what of it? I thought we agreed you'd lay off, prick."

Nines sighs through his nose, eyes shutting for a moment before his gaze tries to pierce through Gavin's skin. "You don't listen very well, do you? I cannot simply _'lay off'_ , it is my responsibility as your partner to accompany you and to work as a unit, no matter how difficult it may be."

This shit. _Again_.

"Has anyone gotten around to telling you how annoying you are? We get it, all right? You're _advanced, one-of-a-kind._ Cyberlife's _golden star child_. You're the best there is, we're lucky to have you, none of us will ever stand a chance to your incredible genetic coding and department of _talents._ " Gavin's silent for a moment, watching for any hint of a reaction. There is none, and he continues, "Is there anything else, plastic, or did I get the gist of it?"

"Nothing else," He answers, impassive. His focus is on his second to last sentence; ' _none of us will ever stand a chance to your incredible genetic coding and department of talents_ '. The Rk900 considers this, LED letting up on the red, switching to yellow, and then blue. "You seem to find there must be something wrong with that. Care to explain yourself?"

" _Do I care to‒_ " Gavin lifted his head slightly. "Why the fuck do you need to know, anyway? I'm not some fuckin' assignment you need to study‒what's my business is my business, ain't none of it got shit to do with you."

Brow furrows and his head cants to the side while he listens. Monitoring Gavin's heart rate wasn't helping, all he was getting was a number slightly raised than average, nothing concrete. Nothing it can confidently come to a conclusion on. It's confusing, and not for the first time, Nines is questioning why the detective seems overly defensive. "Why do androids intimidate you so deeply?" Stops. "Why do _I_ intimidate you?"

He clears his throat before Gavin can respond, "Rooting around in your past without your acknowledgement is not my intention, but if you do not comply, I'd be left without a choice and I _will_ find out why."  Nines makes a point of leaning in, eyes locked on his.  "Please... make your decision."

Gavin grits his teeth, fingers itching to push him back as he decreases the space between them. "I'm not tellin' you shit, jackass, now‒"

Nines suddenly releases Gavin's arms and strides back, taking back his place in the crevasse in the room and adjusting his sleeves accordingly. The detective is relieved, for the lack of better words, to have the machine back a good distance from him, but is left disoriented at why. Then he hears the approaching footsteps.

Oh, real fucking smooth.

The nurse's heels click and snap against the ground and the door opens second later. Vivian looks to Gavin, bottle of prescription medication in hand. He's standing back flat against the ledge of the table with anger in his eyes, fingers twitching together. She frowns, "Is everything ok with you, Detective Reed?"

He nods without taking his stare off Nines, shoulders tight. "Peachy." Carefully, he takes the medicine from her, then steps towards the android, eyeing it once before spitting in his face. Gavin then exits the medical room.

He doesn't look back to see if Nines is following him out; he already knows he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written at 3am, please inform me of any grammatical errors/typos.


	6. Coercion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin had acted without hesitation, all impulse. It was a mistake, a thought and action made without the consideration of what might ensue afterwards. Time to face the music, Nines is beginning to lose his patience, doesn't want to tolerate Gavin's prejudice without an explanation any longer. 
> 
> But the consequences will be dueled out another day.

You could _say_ he's adapting.

The whisper of footsteps trailing behind him no longer come as a surprise. Gavin is, in spite of how he is reluctant to acknowledge it, accustomed to the shadow that was Nines, nearly always on the venge on stepping on the back of his heel, tailing behind him. Most of the time he was silent, other times not so much. Nitpicking on the smallest of habits Gavin had, whether it was checking his phone far too often, rapping his fingers against any and all hard surfaces, or adding a spoonful more sugar than necessary into his coffee, but Gavin had become _used to_ having the RK unit at his back, even if him always breathing down his neck gave Gavin the _heebie-jeebies_.

At first it had bothered him, and Gavin had told him off, asked him if he had 'any fucking concept of personal space'. Nines didn't. Didn't care for it either, told Gavin he would simply have to get over himself, and with time, _he did._ The feeling of an everlasting presence behind him became some what of a routine, an always, whenever he entered the precinct and for the most part, it wad accepted. But this time the vibe was off.

Nines had not tried to keep his following Gavin in silence, his usual soundless steps weren't stealthy, instead quick and angry, purposeful. They reminded Gavin of a charging bull. He had not cared whether or not his partner knew he was coming, the only thought in his mind to reach him, to complete his mission. This time, Gavin was a red flag, and getting a head start hadn't gotten him very far.

Halfway through the bullpen, a surprise hit the detective, a familiar tightness of no-mercy grip is on his forearm. It was a hand, someone had grabbed him, pulling and leading him with a sense of ease, as if he were a ragdoll. Gavin bristled against it, a half-assed attempt at shaking off his attacker, knowing it were all too familiar. Not the action, but the strength, because through two months of tailing, Nines had never _touched_ him. He had always made sure to keep a distance between them, albeit sometimes a little less than Gavin would prefer, close enough to hear a low metallic hum coming from him. 

He knew spitting in the face of his obsessive-compulsive _clean freak_ of a partner was bound to get him pissed off, but he hadn't expected much of a retaliation. But Nines gave one, twofold. Gavin had fucked up enough to make the android get physical with him, and twice in one day. That just had to be some sort of record.

" **Let go** of me, plastic fucker. The fuck are yo–"

Detective _Asshole_ writhed, each word of his sending a new tier of firmness onto his arm. It was a mute warning, and Gavin could practically hear the android's stern whisper without him having to move his lips, 'behave, do not say another word.' He bared his teeth in response to the pain, unable to hold back the strained growl in his throat. The thought is in vain but he hopes Nines would oblige and do what he asks for once, let go of his arm and fuck off, to leave him be.

_Maybe in another lifetime._

Nines' pace doesn't slow and another grunt is pulled through his lips, a sharp tug to Gavin's arm, jerking his body forward. The pounding at back of his skull creeps up again, but he won't breathe a word about it, glaring at the android as if his eyes would say enough. It goes unnoticed though, but eventually they slow down, and Gavin can recognize the part of the station he's in. He knows this place like the back of his hand, so it's doesn't take him long to figure out that they're headed towards the bathroom. A protest is lost in his throat, coming out only as a growl, _this is the last place he wanted to go at four in the morning_. The hand around his arm didn't loosen despite of it, and Gavin feels himself being pushed into an open doorway, arm wrenched behind his back. Nines is close to follow, turns and closes the door behind himself before locking it. As soon as this is done, Nines releases him, moves away and heads for the sinks, turning on the nearest faucet and soaking a paper towel underneath it.

Free now, Gavin stays where the android had left him, propped against the bathroom wall. There was no use of going for the exit, his position was calculated; he just far enough from the door that if he made for it, he would've been caught before he could have even gotten a foot out. He looked over the Nines, watching his red LED staring back at him through the mirror, hands busying themselves as he cleaned and wiped Gavin's spit off his face, a curl of disgust on his lips.

His head hurts.

Gavin was still recovering from the nausea brought on by the sudden force used against him, feels like the back of his skull is vibrating. He is quick to shake it off, eyes following Nines in silence, unsure of why he was even brought in here. Did the android expect pity? A confrontation? He didn't care, nor did he want to, dealing with the bullshit back in the medical room had sapped all the energy out of him completely. His tongue found itself pressing to the roof of his mouth, the coppery taste of blood in his thoughts, as he searched for what to say; he itched to break the silence, hated when Nines went mute.

So he settled on sarcasm. "What, you wanted some company to watch you clean up? You know you could've just asked for that." Not that he'd respond with anything other than a bark of laugh right in his face, if he had. The machine says nothing to this, face hard and eyes harder, and Gavin frowns; he had always hated the silent treatment.

Nines lets the silence hang between them for a good moment and finishes up with washing before he speaks up again, and when he does his words are firm and serious, contrary to Gavin's.

"I want answers from you." They're slow and precise, obvious they had came straight from his programming. Nines turns off the tap once he's certain nothing had been left and tosses away the paper towel, then finally turns to face Gavin.

The disgust Nines displayed earlier was still present, even maybe amplified at the sight of him.

Answers... _Right_.

Honestly, he didn't know why he waited, didn't know what he expected to happen. Maybe he should have held his balls and attempted to escape. Nonetheless the words pick at something, curiosity maybe, or maybe the sleep deprivation was finally getting to him, because he decides to humor the android. 

Gavin folded his arms, cocking a brow at Nines and ignoring the pain in his wrist. "That so, tin-can?" He lets his tongue click back into place. If he's sure on one thing, it's this; Nines wasn't getting a damn thing out of him. "Well, tough fuckin' luck. I don't feel like talking."

Of course, he would expect nothing less of the detective to be _difficult_ , always making his job more complicated than it needed to be. The android fixes his sleeves.

"Luck," Nines says, "is nothing but a concept, and it has no value here, as I'm sure you know." He exhales without need, sounding vexed. "Though, you may also be familar with this idea, sometimes, to get what you want out of people, you have to _rough them up a little_." His movements still. "I suppose that would be of a more _effective_ resolution for you."

Something pricked at his skin, turned his blood cold. Was Nines threatening him? Gavin's eyes narrowed, sizing him up, picking up on his wording. He caught it immediately, he was _mimicking_ him. Those were his words coming out of the android's mouth, a sentence he had said to Connor months back, upon their first meeting. It was anxiety, Gavin realized. The feeling on his skin was anxiety.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

It appears Nines was not the only one with questions. His head slants to the right, _surely_ Gavin had been able to pick up on his reply, his physical reaction said as much; a slight increase of heartbeat, a hitch in his breathing. It had definitely not gone unheard, that much was clear. Still, the android took a tentative step closer as if to humor him, keeping an eye on the hands on the man in front of him when they balled themselves into fists.

Nines rolled his eyes as though it were the heaviest burden to repeat himself, "Perhaps you _do_ have complications with hearing," He sighs. "I said simply suggested that some are more compliant to expel information under the implication of violence."

For fuck's sake–

Gavin felt the urge to tear his _goddamn hair out_. He knew Nines would never let up about this shit; maybe Nines was more like Connor than he'd like to admit, always committed on gaining personal information, no matter how uncooperative the individual may be. No matter how clear they were on not wanting to give it out. In response, Gavin felt his face pinch, depositing anything he could to thrown off the sense of anxiousness that arose. 

"Are you _threatening_ me, asshole?" Despite the adversity he faced and could face, his voice was even.

Nines ignored his demeanor, "Not if your answer satisfies me."

All right. So, in other words, _yes_ , he was threatening him. Gavin barks out a laugh, sharp and without lightness, echoing in the emptiness of the bathroom.

Nines fails to find humor in the situation, feels a small pull at the corners of his lips, a frown of sorts, not full in disclosure but enough to be noticed. "Is there something funny, Detective?"

No, he didn't find anything above _slightly_ amusing about this, but if he didn't laugh, he wouldn't have had any other idea of how to react. He wanted to punch him, swing for his LED, literally _knock his lights out_ , but he couldn't. Not with a concussion and crooked nose. In any other given circumstance, if anyone had pulled this on him, Gavin wouldn't have been hesitant to reach for his firearm, shove the barrel into the face of whoever spoke down to him and taunt back.

That reminded him, his gun was still in the fucking alley; _he'd have to go back for that later_ , but in the meantime... he'd just have to get creative.

Using the friction of his foot, Gavin gave himself a push forward, a crude smirk etched onto his lips that was all teeth. Gavin studied Nines back. His face may have been devoid of any readable emotion, but his stance was prepared, ready, _waiting_ , like a predator stalking it's prey. The machine could not comprehend what it felt to be compassionate, empathetic; he was made out of steel and apathy, anti-deviancy. Nines wore the same look on his face as he had when entered the medical room. 

"You know," Gavin began, "you look like you want to murder someone," There's a hint of amusement at his poor choice of words, but it's mostly spoken with grit, "Really not the smartest look to have being in a _police station_."

A vain attempt at a joke, but Nines does not receive it as such because using comedy wasn't a common response from someone who's well-being was at sake. The android stiffens in confusion, eyes stern, but replies back to him,

"I do not intend to kill you, Gavin."

Another laugh, this one deeper, angrier. "Right," Gavin pulls back the sleeve of his jacket, revealing the bruises that blossomed the skin of his wrist. "Didn't want to finish what you started?"

Blue eyes flick down where Gavin exposed where he had held him earlier that evening, the finger shaped marks already a purple hue. Nines had not realized he had put that much force onto Gavin, too caught up on his own frustration with him to pay attention to his analytics. He blinked, looking back up to meet his eyes, LED whirling a loop of yellow before falling back to red.

"I was not aware of my hurting you."

He wasn't buying that for a second, and a curt laugh echos in the emptiness of the room.

"Oh, here it comes," Gavin sang out, clasping his hands. "Go on, act innocence. Put on your fuckin' show. Tell me how you're _sorry_ , and how you'll never do it again. Lie to me, read out your script."

Brows knit together tightly, Nines is not sure where Gavin is going with this; he had not lied to him.

"I do not understand what you are implying, Detective. My statement was genuine." His hand flexed, remembering the feeling of Gavin's skin beneath his fingertips; soft and delicate, and easy to bruise. "There was no meditation to harm you; I had neglected regard to my strength in a moment of weakness," Emotions were intrusive, destructive. He had been distracted. "I failed to recognize your fragility."

Gavin sneered at him, all doubt. The machine made to be overpowered and unforgiving was playing _victim_ ; Nines was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He knew he was nothing but a pawn for the android to get where he wanted, to excel at his career, and maybe a small part of Gavin respected that, the drive to get ahead, to be respected in a position of power. But to lie through his teeth...

"Give me _one good_ fuckin' reason why I shouldn't tear your fuckin' head clean off your ne–"

Nines interrupted before Gavin could continue, not wanting to hear any more empty threats. "The threat of violence against me means nothing, and on the off chance that you _do_ hit me, I cannot feel pain. It would be a waste of energy on your behalf." That much is true, he is incapable of feeling anything of the physical sort that came in extremes, nothing to throw him off and make him vulnerable. If anything, Gavin would only damage him, but while in his current state of being, nothing too severe could be done before he tired himself out, or even caused more damage to his own being, far worse than anything he could of done to a _machine_ , which would eventually cause him to stop.

Gavin opened his mouth to respond, retort already on his lips, before Nines spoke up again, "I did not bring you here to fight, and you are in no position to try," To state the obvious, Nines nods towards his... whole being. The entirety of him was covered in injury. "It is for your own benefit that we settle this with words instead."

Gavin releases a sigh of defeat, muttering an unintelligible curse to himself because he knows that he's not wrong. Of course he fucking wasn't, never was. Rather than arguing, and having used a majority of what little energy he had left to raise his voice, he nodding slowly at the Rk900. An oral agreement would never pass his lips.

There's a pause in surprise by the android, expecting more of a fight put up by the cop, but is pleasantly wrongheaded. He watches as Gavin's eyes switch from rage to exhaustion, yet he knows he's still mad, doesn't want to be here, just wants to be left alone. For a second, Nines questions if maybe he should have gone through his public records instead, found another way that wasn't through Gavin himself. Heavily conflicted, his LED glows a dull yellow again, thinking. The Rk900 does not usually stick his nose where it doesn't belong, not almost never without permission, but with his partner near falling asleep at his feet, it makes him reconsider.

(Software Instability **^** )

"I would much rather hear the explanation from you opposed to going through public records," It feels unnecessary thorough to keep prying as hard as he is, but he cannot break character. "Uncompromising with me later does not mean I will not find out on my own."

"Ok, I fuckin' get it, all right? I get it. You want to get in my head," Gavin sneers again, annoyed. "Look, plastic, _ok_ –you'll get what you want, but not right now, not tonight, not in the bathroom of the fuckin' department. My face fuckin' hurts, I need a shower, and I want to get some shut eye while it's still dark out," He rubs a hand over his eyes, rough and slow, sighing heavy. "If you gotta be so desperate to know and plan on pullin' teeth about it, _fine_. I'll bite. Just let me catch a break first."

For the first time in nearly an hour, the LED on Nines' temple goes back to blue, willing to yield to Gavin's offer, even without a set answer yet. He hums, satisfied with himself and ignoring the pang of _something_ against his programming. Nines does not acknowledge it.

"...Acceptable. You may contact me once content with your needs. As long as you follow through with our arrangement, I will not communicate with you while you're on leave unless any urgent exceptions need to be made."

Gavin waves it off, hardly listening to whatever defining bullshit Nines spews at him, turning to exit the bathroom. He unlocks it and leaves, letting it shut behind him, and for once, does not feel the presence of Nines looming behind him. And for the most part, he is relieved. No invasion of his space, no monotonous whispers in his ears, no uninvited company, no one at his side. But another... **No** , he's not going to entertain any other feeling than the relief that's flooding him. 

Fuck, maybe the sleep deprivation and excessive caffeine intake was really beginning to take it's toll on him.

Even so, now he had three weeks of recovery to better himself.

Now outside in the dark, Gavin fished into his pocket for his phone to do two things; one, text Tina. He had to let her know he wouldn't be able to pick her up in the morning and she'd have to leech off someone else. Then two, call a cab. His car was still at the crime scene, and if he wanted to get home, he was going to have to catch a ride. He squinted at the brightness of his phone, thumbing a message out as he shivered in the night air, breathing in the scent of wet asphalt.

4:23 AM.

( **gavin** ) can't pick u up.  
( **gavin** ) but still could use a coffee.

Slides the messaging app away and dials the nearest automatic cab company he can remember. He phones in, says his location, then puts his phone away and attempts to warm his hands up by lacing them together. He could really use a cigarette. Wants one, but the pack is in his car. Same with his wallet, he realizes, though is glad to have an available way of online payment inside the taxi. _Bless living in the future_. He'll go back to the house tomorrow–or later today–whenever he feels decent enough to hassle through it.

The cab arrives ten minutes later and Gavin gets inside, says his destination and is back home on his couch before he has much time to think about it. He is out like a light the minute his head meets the cushion. 

7:57 AM.

( **tina** ) youre so unreliable gav  
( **tina** ) no ride no coffee  
( **tina** ) your rules

7:58 AM.

( **tina** ) and try not to miss me too much  
( **tina** ) :))

8:11 AM.

( **tina** ) chris said he'd help me out btw  
( **tina** ) but youre not out of the dog house yet  
( **tina** ) you can make it up to me w/drinks later

 

12:46 PM.

( **gavin** ) poor chris. how much did u pay him?  
( **gavin** ) ok. my place @8.

12:52 PM.

( **tina** ) nothing stfu  
( **tina** ) unlike you some people enjoy my company  
( **tina** ) and there we go! drinks on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a summary of their relationship rn:  
> "sTeP tHe fUck Up KyLe"


	7. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't remember the last time he had voluntarily brought someone over, let alone stay for drinks as well. Tina and Gavin have a slightly intoxicated conversation discussing a certain android as he works on his recovering, leading up to something...a decision.
> 
> And yes, I am on the bandwagon of Gavin being a cat person, even if he's too proud to admit it. #CatDad

Self-destructive tendencies, that’s what fucks him up the most, he’s been told, but that is also what he can’t help. Sure, when everything goes to shit or seems hopeless, he has to busy his mind with things. Throw himself into them. The more it hurts, the better, anyway; that’s a good, healthy distraction, right? A nagging voice in the back of his head says it's just him trying to punish himself, but that's bullshit, because he's having _so much fun_. Hell, perhaps it wasn't all that bad‒it earned him some much needed time off to recover and get sone actual fucking sleep for once. And most importantly, it gave him time away from his handsy goddamn android, too.

Goodbye, _creepy fucker_. Until next time.

The least fun part about it, though, was the self-care aspect of it all. It was never something he had gotten good at, maybe starting off strong here and there, cleaning and dressing his wounds, and then possibly even maintaining a half-decent form of sufficiency, but it never lasted. Eventually, he'd put his health to the side and devour himself back into his a case. To be honest, Gavin couldn't have cared less about preserving the outermost of his body; no problem with letting it become scarred and damaged as long as it wasn't life threatening, despite having it come close to that on a few particular shit occasions; nights where he really considered whether or not it would have mattered anyway. Even now, it hadn't occurred to him to keep up with a routine of replacing the gauze pads currently stuffed deep in his nostrils, coated in his blood, but he doubted Tina would let him get away with it, so he thought he would give himself a head start before she could hound onto him for it.

_Good_. He finally came to his senses. 

He's showered, dressed, and decently shaved by the time six o'clock rolls around, and he's taken some time to change the gauze in his nose, now staring at the heavily fogged mirror at his swollen face. He looks fucking terrible, and he knows it. The bags under his eyes are deep and dark, framed in blue and purple bruises that swell up from his fracture. It didn't help that he spent the entire night tossing and turning‒sharp pain waking him up abruptly everytime his face made contact with his pillow. Eventually, he had given up on sleep completely, laying still on his back, glaring out into the blackness of his bedroom, letting ache consume him until the cracks of his curtains shone bright. Gavin sighs, irritated, pats cold water on his face in hopes of reducing the swelling, then pockets his keys and heads out to the nearest liquor store.

Much to everyone's utter surprise, alcohol and Gavin didn't meet often. Sure, he shared a few characteristics of someone suffering with alcohol abuse or dependency issues, developing problems socially _and_ professionally, and often being depicted as quite the jackass, but he, again, was no Hank Anderson. Nor would he be. Gavin hadn't wasted his weekends away sitting in hasty bars and clubs since college. It was not because he lacked tolerance or money, and it wasn't because he lacked the motivation to walk a while to a bar either, nor hated hearing the same sad, same monotonous, drunken mumbles. It was just that he simply did not have time. Gavin only rarely took days off, and Saturdays and Sundays were already occupied with any down time to himself that was between going through case files and trailing suspects, _promptly over working himself entirely_.

He never knew someone could be too busy to be an alcoholic. The thought causes him to laugh ironically as he purchases the two bottles of bourbon whiskey, shoulders tense.

Returning back to his apartment, Gavin realizes it's probably just as much as a mess as he feels.

Not implying he is a _messy_ person, he actually prefers more of a cleaner, less cluttered environment, one that is organized by himself. But the lack of time spent at home has really done it in. He curses under his breath, putting the bottles in the fridge to cool before checking his phone for the time.

7:43 PM.

Just enough time for him to rush around and tidy up his place to the best of his ability. He starts in the living room, taking out any clothes that have been discarded in the process of changing and throwing out anything similar to empty food wrappers and the butts of his cigarettes, then moves onto the kitchen, the bathroom, and so forth. Gavin is halfway down the hall with arms full of laundry when he hears knuckles against his door.

He leaves the clothes in a hamper in the bathroom then makes his way back to the front. Checks the clock again, 8:01 PM. Tina Chen never failed to be on time, and Gavin couldn't decide whether that was a pro or a con by the time he let her inside.

"Hey, asshole! I missed your face‒oh _shit_."

The surprise in her voice had been expected. He knew he had looked a little bit more than worse for wear as he walked back home from the store, current events making him unable to drive there himself, and it had saved him a few _troubled_ looks. Eyes had lingered on him a little too long to be comfortable, but Gavin had simply narrowed his back and said nothing. He knew what they were staring at‒the yellowish _stain_ to his under eyes, the puffiness of his cheeks, and if they really dove deep and squinted, the red blood vessels welling up in his conjunctiva.

In other words, he looked _bad_ and her reaction had only proven that.

"What's wrong," Gavin throws a smirk her way, words playful instead of inquisitive. "Cats got your tongue?"

She shakes her head, a wide, buoyant smile stretching across her face to erase the concerned frown, "I'm speechless. And you know what?" Tina closes the door behind herself, easily making herself at home in his apartment. She takes a step closer to him and studies his face with a squint, "Purples a good color on you."

"Fuck you."

" _Very_ rude. I take it back, I didn't miss you."

The detective manages a rough laugh in return, smiling through a grimace when the pain bites at him because of it. 

"Speaking of cats, though," Tina says, peeling off her rain-soaked jacket, folding over the _Detroit Police_ labelled on it's back and ignoring Gavin's groan. "You consider getting one yet? It's pretty lonely in here, Gav, you could use some company. It's getting kinda sad."

" _Hell_ no."

It comes out immediately, almost as if he's thought about it before (he has, but he sure as hell isn't telling anybody). He scoffs and tries to wave her off, but Gavin knows he needs a cat, and he has debated on adopting one on various occasions. What stopped him was time, the proactive motivation of preparing for one, and the fact he was hardly sustaining himself at home, similar reasons as to why he hadn't been picking up the bottle, too. Besides that, he had to admit‒he kind of wanted one.

"Just one? A tiny little roommate?"

God, one. Only _one._

"Don't even fuckin' think about it," He pointed an accusatory finger at Tina, eyes narrowing at the mischievous glint in her's. "Don't bring me home a fuckin' cat. You hearin' me?"

She uses her 'right to remain silent', nodding her head with a crooked smile, and avoiding his pressing stare.

" **Tina** , hear me out." Gavin sighed, loud, exaggerated. "I don't need one, want one, _whatever_ , and if I catch you bringin' one here, I'm tossin' you and it both out. _Got it?_ "

"Loud and clear."

"Good."

There's a beat of silence as they shift into the living room, but it's comfortable. It is not of awkward tension, and Gavin can tell she's thinking, probably arguing with herself whether or not to edge him into conforming to her and getting himself a furball. Hell, she was just about the only one who could. Tina's never seemed particularly awful to him. In fact, he thinks he's got a soft spot for her, but he doesn't dare mention it.

"So," she gestures to his face once they sit themselves in his living room, "you going to tell me what happened or do I have to ask around at the precinct like it's high school?"

Only if it were inevitable.

She wanted to know? Wish granted. A pefect opportunity for Gavin to garnish his storytelling skills. He's thorough with recalling the events, even more so than he had been while filing his report on the assault that afternoon, and Tina listens with very few comments, mostly poking into his burning _shame_ for having been knocked out cold by yet another damn 'droid. The alcohol is brought out somewhere in the mix of his recounting of the events, he doesn't know when, only feels the glass to his lips whenever he pauses and the swirl of liquor down his throat. It burns, but it's nice. Gavin's far from a lightweight, although he is feeling the buzz alot quicker than Tina‒she drinks regularly, much more than him, and has always been good at handling her intake. It makes him almost bearable, too. In the comfort of his own home and in the presence of company he (only while drunk) admittingly enjoys, Gavin feels himself beginning to relax. That is, until Tina decides to bring up the Rk900.

"How's it going with you and Terminator? I assume it's going fine since you haven't brought it up."

_And there it is._

An instinctive arm fold, hand gripping just above the elbow tight enough to bruise, had he used a little more exterted force. A click of his tongue in reluctance to answer, and then an immediate reply. 

"I think you know the answer to your question."

Of course she does. Everyone in the precinct would have. The open desk offices weren't exactly designed to keep conversations private, and anyone in a close velocity would have heard Gavin and his robocop partner bickering and making sly remarks to each other throughout the day. In fact, it may have been a source of entertainment for some, which Gavin had tried his best to ignore, saving his 'lashing out' for Nines instead. 

Yeah, Reed. _Take it out on a machine_ , like a **man**. 

A rare chuckle bubbled at her lips and yet a genuine honesty was dancing in her eyes as she spoke, "Oh puh- _lease_ , Gav, I'm sure it's not _that bad_ , you big wuss. It's an android after all, designed to obey and take on all the work. This, really, should be something you want, gives you more time to slack off."

"Hilarious.  Not sure if you're aware, but it's my job to actually show up and not just pretend I'm doin' it."

"Right, riiiight. I always seem to forget that when I see you at your desk arguing with the android."

Gavin doesn't even try suppressing the eye roll that follows Tina's chastising; it was bad enough that he had to work in the same department as the fucking thing, let alone have to put up with the android getting physical with him while Fowler was out trying to dig himself out of the shit-load of work he's buried in. He knows it's in his best interests to kiss his captain's ass and work with Nines, but there's something about the way he looks at him that really gets under his skin. Gavin would bet money it has everything to do with Nines' pale blue eyes, so different from Connor's. "It's been givin' me the silent treatment lately, been actin' up. I think it's _broken._ "

The last sentence is a joke, though a single word is in the back of his mind instead, replacing 'broken': _Deviant_ (?)

Takes a sip of her whiskey with ease, "You scared it into silence or something?"

 _Quite the fucking opposite, actually_ , Gavin thinks with a bitter huff of a laugh, and it couldn't have taken him long enough to say it aloud. Slamming the cup down, of course he sighed loudly, and of course he made a point of pulling up his sleeve, previously covered by sweater and holding his wrist out for her to see. 

"Sure, something like that," He mutters, letting her take hold of his arm to inspect.

"Holy shit!" Tina twists his limb, eyes following the fingerprint trail of bruises on his skin, eyebrows pinching in. "Cyberlife's getting good, this one won't take shit from you, either."

That much was true, Nines wouldn't. Didn't. 

Sometimes he wondered if they had designed the android specifically for him as a way to combat his behavior, his attitude. He knew it was a reach, yet still. Maybe he was _such a good man_ that they rewarded him with the most emotionally detached asshole they could muster up, a heartless tin-can, just to deliver it right to his doorstep so it could undermine him‒get rid of him.

And it was ridiculous. Truly ridiculous. Incredibly unnerving, however, this was the sad truth of being replaced with one, intruding plastic prick. Would Gavin give up his job so easily? No, but in this circumstance, no other choice was better. The detective was quick enough to figure that. Stubbornness and pride won't change a thing, simply telling Nines to leave would be a waste of his time, as proven, murder would kill his wallet too, and handing him to someone else won't do it either. Tolerance towards these amalgams of wires could only be pried from his cold, dead hands, and Gavin knew he will regret and curse himself not too long after, but after the warmth of alcohol had begun to nest in his stomach, the words left his lips without much consideration,

"Fuckin' thing got the nerve to threaten me last night, said it wants to talk, ask me some fuckin' questions. It wants to interrogate _me_. Can you believe that? _**Christ**_." Gavin retracted his arm, hands finding their way to his face, careful to avoid his fracture. He rubbed at his eyes with something between self-pity and self-loathing, but mostly the latter. "Still deciding if I've got a death wish or not."

Tina stares at him, thinking of his options. There isn't many, it isn't like he can avoid confrontation with the RK unit, they work together. They were _partners_. The best way to go about it would be to do what Nines wanted and hope for the best. Tina gives a shrug to her shoulders and says, "Go for it. Worst case scenario, you'll die."

He directed a glare at her through his fingers just before removing them to lift his middle at her. Tina laughed. "Oh really? Well, _thanks_ , smartass."

"Man, oh man, it must have really been a lucky night for you," Tina sank back against his couch, ignoring how it groaned under her weight, not familiar with the use. "With the pleasure of knowing how your usual hook-ups go," she offered a tease, "you must have loved it."

Gavin inhaled through his teeth, letting his chest rise. "Yeah, right. I had never been more aroused," he retorted before downing the rest of his drink. As much as he hated the machine with every fibre of his being, the dominance asserted by‒ _nope_ , ending that train of thought immediately. "Cold metal isn't really my type, and I'd have to be real fuckin' desperate to ever put my dick in‒" 

" _Gav_. Please, mercy."

It was beginning to seem like a long, long night, especially on this topic. He wanted nothing to do with it, not while bordering on drunk.

"Fuck. Forget all of that."

She drank to his words, humoring him. Tina was never one to pry, especially when she knew how Gavin behaved while under the influence. He had little issue with speaking his mind already while sober, but after a few drinks, there was little to no filter whatsoever, so she would let the topic die before he'd drone on until there'd become a point of no return. Past experiences had taught her for the better.

"You stayin' here tonight?"

The question trailed her off her thoughts.

It was a blue moon whenever Gavin offered her to come over, much less to stay the night. She was obviously tipsy and they both knew that meant she would more than likely have to catch a cab back to her place, which had already been clear as something she despised to do. A waste of money, _why use cabs when you had more than capable friends to be your usher?_ Seems logical enough.

"Only if I can use your bed," Tina replied, not really meaning it. "Your furniture is a piece of shit, Gav." But she had meant her words that time.

He nodded in agreement‒it _was_ pretty shit, but there was a time and a place to get a new couch, and at one in the morning, he wasn't about to get on that. "All yours. I'm taking the couch tonight."

She rose a brow, "If your bed is worse than your couch then I take it back."

"That's s'not why, Tina. The bed's fine, worth more than it helps." Gavin heard himself slur and decided against another glass; he's clearly had enough. "Felt like shit on it last night, kept layin' my face on the sheets. I need t'prop my head up." He slapped a hand on his arm rest. "This'll work."

The conversation from there danced around everything. Work, Jericho's upraising, humanity's down fall, local news, any interesting stories they've heard lately, and even Tina's _trying_ attempt at a love life (not that Gavin could talk on relationships, though). She had, for a few good months, been talking to‒dating?‒someone, a female. She worked as a android technician, mostly for repairs and modifications, and Tina had found an interest in her, despite her conflicting views on androids and their place in society. Tina wasn't necessarily opposed to them working along side humans, as long as they stayed machines. She found it almost unnatural when the androids deviated, the whole idea of it made Tina uneasy, because she, like many others, had grown up with devices that existed without feeling and without life, their one purpose to be used and controlled. 

And now, these devices, these plastic _people_ were incharge of their own reproduction services. An odd concept, and a hard pill to swallow. 

Still, Tina had tried her best to adapt, and her interest in the technician, Gavin caught her name was _Sam_ , had only helped her with it. This, of course, brought on some new debate among Gavin and herself, but they always made up after finding common ground or simply agreeing to disagree, as much as Gavin would strain to be an ass about it.

Regardless, it didn't seem to hurt their friendship, and by the end of the night, he still hadn't kicked her out. Instead, he had drifted off on the couch, slumped in an awkward position that Tina couldn't have been bothered to fix him out of. On second thought, and more for her benefit than his, she put the near empty bottles aside and took her phone out to snap a quick photo of the jackass of a man curled up on the side of his couch, swollen cheeks and all.

She saved it, laughed, and got up to head to sleep, but not without a quiet goodbye,

"Goodnight asshole."

Half walking, half stumbling to his bedroom, she heard a muffled sound that resembled a response just before she reached his doorway. 

"...G'night."

With those words, one last thought befell him before unconsciousness. It was of Nines. Gavin made up his mind‒he was going to answer him, going to _appease_ him, but on his own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I was wondering if you guys would be interested in more chapters featuring Tina? I have a specific chapter in mind involving dialogue between her and Nines, most likely going to discuss Gavin and such, and maybe one with her, Hank, and Connor, as well. Up to you guys, Tina isn't necessarily an important part of the plot, but I was interested if any of you enjoyed her scenes; this one was sort of a test run, per se.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, this is my first ever attempt at writing for a fandom, or just fictions in general. I'll take any advice you can give me.


End file.
